Epitaph
by silvereyedbitch
Summary: Another fic of a final confrontation between D&G, but this one ends badly. Not a very pleasant fic. Warning: Hints of M/M, major character death...


Disclaimer: Don't own these dudes. Never will. Just playing around.

Setting/Summary: This is not a happy fic, so be forewarned. It does not end well. Ahem. So, D&G return after defeating Calesta, but the Hunter has remained as himself through the resurrection provided by the Iezu mother. No real changes to him, just that the Unnamed isn't his master anymore, but he still has to be evil and nasty and all that to live. Therefore, when they return to the Forest, after helping Tarrant set up a search on Iezu knowledge, they fight over his continued evil and whatnot. Damien leaves to finally return to the church wishing all the way that he could have done something more to uncover the Hunter's humanity and redeem him. He is warned by Tarrant when they fight that he should never return upon pain of their promised confrontation because he cannot change what he is. And thus, Damien is of course sent back by the Patriarch to end the threat of the Forest and its master, which is where we pick up my fic…

Warnings: Hints of M/M, major character death, emotional angst…

**Epitaph**

_Here I am. Come and get me,_ thought Damien as he stood at the edge of the Forest. The proximity should allow the Hunter to sense his presence as soon as he arose this evening. And then he would come for Damien, as he had promised, and finish what they had discussed those many months ago. Was he afraid? Of course. But he had no choice in this, as with so many other things in his life. Becoming a priest was never a question. He _knew_ that was his calling, and so he pursued it. He _knew_ that his talents lay more in the physical realm than that of the other pious and devoted initiates. And so when the call came to join the Knights of the Flame, he _felt_ it in his heart as the right path. Consequently, he had also _known_ that Tarrant was a necessary evil, and at the time of their first encounter, he was able to keep that delineation firmly in his mind. That line had blurred out of visibility now. Over the course of their time and travels spent together, he had also come to _know_ another thing, a dark thing. Something he kept locked inside himself under a steel guard, never to see the light of conscious thought…and especially never to be brought to the Hunter's attention. To do so would invite the most painful of tortures; not of the body, but of the heart.

He shook his head to clear it. _No time for second guesses. My sacrifice will set his evil aright, and Erna will be free of it forever_. Death had never truly scared Damien Vryce. It was one of the first precepts one came to accept as an initiate of his order. Death comes to all, and one should welcome it as a human thing that marks one as mortal and allows the One God dominion over the land and its peoples. He had never truly feared it because there was never anything before that he had felt might be left unfinished after his passing. He prided himself in living for the moment and helping others. Now, there _was_ something that could get missed. What if he failed in his given task? It wasn't so much the Patriarch he was worried about failing. There were many other knights who could take up arms against enemies of the church. No. His fear was that, if he failed…_No! _he thought to himself. _Stop thinking of it! You're only going to make it a self-fulfilling prophecy the way you're going about it._

He checked his position once again. Good solid earth under his feet. A long dagger in his boot. Cold steel in his hand. He was ready for his end. And he tried not to dwell on how similar that cold metal felt to something else under his fingertips. Hard, smooth, and unyielding. And cold, always the biting cold to follow after and steal the strength from your limbs. His thoughts were interrupted by a change he felt more than saw. The Forest seemed more alert, as though its thousands of myriad inhabitants had all suddenly turned their attention to his edge of the treeline. An evil was abroad in the land, and it was coming for him. He felt it deep in his gut, and he waited to see how it would reveal itself.

Suddenly, all extraneous sound ceased. It was the kind of silence that precluded the end of a hunt, when the predator found his prey and prepared to kill. And then, a deafening roar and thunderous rending broke the silence as the four outermost trees broke from their bases and snapped forward onto the ground as if they had been pushed down forcefully by an unseen hand. The thump they made upon hitting the ground drove into Damien's boots, and his heart sped up as a new alertness settled onto him. He peered through the rising dust of the trees' collapse and finally made out a solitary figure standing just behind their trunks. With a wave of an arm, the figure cleared the dust from around himself, allowing Damien to view the Prince of Jehanna, The Hunter, the Darkest Prince of Hell, the Neocount of Merentha, Prophet of the One God, and Knight Premier of his order…Gerald Tarrant. _I can think of some other titles that fit him just as well, _the knight thought with a dark humor.

Tarrant emerged from the Forest without so much as a speck of dust clinging to his many layered silken trappings. He approached to within twenty or so feet from Damien before stopping, and bowed slightly in his antiquated manner of greeting. Then he was up and facing Damien with the shining silver eyes that held all the darkness of hell behind them. Tall and lean, he cut an impressive figure. But Damien decided not to play into that game of perception. "Nice entrance. Hope you didn't think it up just for me," Damien remarked. Tarrant stared back without even acknowledging that he had spoken, as if weighing his intentions. _And he well might be,_ thought Damien. So accomplished a sorcerer was the Hunter that he could perform a Knowing without his victim ever noticing he was there.

Finally Tarrant chose to speak, "Vryce, I cannot say I am happy to see you here again, and I do hope that I am mistaking your intentions. Our truce is ended. I speak with you now only on the basis of the respect I have for your commitment to your calling." The knight stared at Tarrant for a moment, almost lost in thoughts better left alone, before shaking himself out of them. _No sense talking around it,_ he thought, and then said, "You are correct in your assumptions, Hunter. I am here for you. I will not deny it and pretend to be other than I am. One or both us will die this night." And it seemed as he spoke that an almost-smile flashed across the Neocount's lips, as if he were amused at the very thought of being challenged. "Yes, Vryce. One shall die. Shall I tell you which? I think not. I think you know. You have no fae power here, just strength of arms. Don't you think _that's_ been attempted before?" the adept finished with a long sigh, "And I will deeply regret having to do this, truly I will. The world will be less kind without you." And as he finished his words, the edge of the Forest came alive with wolves.

_Damn, I didn't think he'd play dirty. Figured his gentleman's manners wouldn't allow it_, Damien thought with a start of slight panic. He watched as the Hunter gracefully raised his arm and motioned for the wolves to move forward. The adept's words to them reached his ears, "Bring him." And they sprang forward, perhaps twenty of them. They surrounded him, circling. One lunged for his boot from behind, and as he swerved to intercept it, another dashed in from his left, seeking his arm. He managed to fend off those two, but more and more shot in, snapping and growling and drawing blood. He couldn't get a fix on any of them. It was as though the fae in the Forest was blurring his vision so that when he tried to focus on one, he couldn't pinpoint it. And so, though he bravely stayed on his feet for over three minutes, he was eventually knocked down and then held fast by overly large jaws, teeth piercing through his flesh and holding him immobile. Once secure in the jaws of two large wolves, they began to drag him backwards and into the trees. _God help me, I may have already failed. Just let me get close to him, Lord. Just one time is all I need_.

They brought him a few miles inland, their strength and endurance admirable. His pants were shredded to rags from just above the knees, and his legs bore testament to the many rocks that dotted their chosen trail. By the time they dropped him onto a sandy clearing, his arms were numb and bleeding, and his legs had several cuts, abrasions, and the occasional gouge draining blood. He lay there still and silent for a minute, breathing shallow and fast. Just when his body began to respond to him again, he was kicked in the side. He rolled with the blow, but it still doubled him over. "Get up, priest. Make your valiant stand against me. Show me how _good_ always triumphs!" the adept taunted. Damien's mind was floating. His sword was gone, and he had no power over the fae here. He had only a dagger, and looking at what he faced, he decided it wouldn't be much use to him anyway. He pushed himself off of the ground. _Maybe I can at least make it quick_, he thought despairingly. So far, nothing was going as he had hoped or planned. He should have realized the Hunter would never allow himself to be at the disadvantage. Thus, here he was, weaponless, without the fae, and completely in the power of a malevolent being that spanned nearly a millennium.

_Where is that spark of humanity I saw?_ he wondered. And as he was thinking, the Hunter became irritated. "Well, where is your justice now, priest? Where was it ever for _me_? You worry for the innocents. Shall I reiterate something for you?" he stepped closer, to within a foot of Damien. "There _are_ no innocents!" the adept shouted as he backhanded the priest across the face. It drove Damien almost to his knees, but he recovered enough and stood his ground, blood trailing from his mouth. Tarrant stared at him again, as if wondering at the lack of resistance. "What are you hiding?" he inquired as he began a Knowing. Panic filled Damien as the power hit him. He tried every trick he had to keep his intentions hidden, but most of all, he concentrated on hiding that part of himself that was buried away. But it wasn't enough. The Hunter's power was too strong, too overwhelming. Damien's darkest secret came clamoring to the fore making him loath himself all the more as he felt the guilt settle on his shoulders. Self-loathing took the place of terror, and he shook from the power of it.

Tarrant reeled back from the revelation. "What?!" he exclaimed in disbelief. And as understanding took hold, his feelings turned to an anger black as the core of the universe. Damien Vryce, Knight of the Flame and dedicated servant of the One God, _loved_ the Hunter, cared deeply for him. It was something he had buried so far down that he had hoped it forgotten or changed by now. But with the Knowing, all of those buried emotions frothed to the surface and smothered him under their suffocating web of denial. As for the Hunter, he backed away slowly from the defeated priest, blind hatred awash over his features as the emotions and feelings of the knight washed over and into him. _Pain_ was how he interpreted love. And this was the most horrifying pain of all. It was internal and had no true physical source which could be snuffed out. But the worst pain came from the revelation that Damien was not alone in his feelings. In the deepest recesses of the Hunter's shattered and inky heart, a resonance was sounding with Damien's uncovered secret. It doubled him over at first, and he felt as though sunlight was burning him from the inside out. He fought it desperately, not believing, and not wanting to believe. And as he gasped a breath, he looked up at Vryce, the priest's death clearly marked in his eyes.

With a yell, the Hunter charged Damien. He crashed into him in mindless fury and proceeded to hit him from all angles. Damien's head whipped back and forth under the onslaught of blows. His left forearm cracked and then snapped. Pain shot up that arm. His clavicle was the next to go when Tarrant punched down into it. One end of the bone must have punctured the top of his lung because he became very short of breath suddenly. Something wet and gurgling was in the back of his throat after a few seconds, and his vision wavered. He prayed fervently as his body was beaten, _God, forgive him, for he knows not what he does, so lost in the darkness is he. Forgive him, __**please**__, forgive him. I go willingly to Your alter, Father, if only you will show mercy upon this man, your enemy…my love._ He tried to raise his other arm in defense, but the Hunter was simply too inhumanly strong and fast. He was thrown violently to the ground after another destructive blow, and he lay there, staring up at this lost soul who would be his end. "What will you do now, priest?!" Tarrant screamed hoarsely at him, and then he laughed raggedly. But Damien felt a calm taking over him, and he knew his end was coming. He looked up at the man towering over him and answered, "Save you."

This seemed to serve only to further infuriate Tarrant who became wreathed in a coldfire glow. Small flames licked up the length of his robes. The Hunter cleared the distance between them faster than the eye could track, and suddenly Damien found himself eye to eye with the adept. Tremors of pain ravaged along the Hunter's body as he hovered over Damien, a palm to the ground on each side of the priest's head. "You will suffer for this," he gasped out at Damien. But Damien just looked him calmly in the eye and said, "No. And neither will you…not anymore." The Hunter gasped as the dagger's length pierced through his ribs and cleaved his heart. Blue-black blood, icy and thick, welled out over Damien's arm holding the blade. Surprise never fully registered on the adept's face before Damien set his head up a little and whispered into his face, "A knife through the heart, eh, Hunter?" and he chuckled, an ugly gurgling sound. "Someone told me about that once," he finished. But Tarrant wasn't quite done. Steeling himself, the adept brought his hand up between them and Damien watched as it turned insubstantial. Then, Tarrant brought the hand down to the priest's chest and pushed through.

Damien gasped as he felt the wraithlike hand close about his heart. He inhaled sharply, and then shut his eyes tightly in pain, whispering something Tarrant could just barely make out a few snippets of, "…..this…acceptance…..my sacrifice." Shortly thereafter, the priest ceased breathing. Tarrant stared in wonder at the man as his hand returned from its malicious work. He could feel himself weakening quickly, dying. A pulse of white light breathed out from the priest's body and enveloped the Hunter. It held him in its glow for a moment, nothing happening. And then, suddenly, darkness was pulling away from his skin like a mist and wisping away into the night air. _What?!_ And then he himself spasmed once, twice. He fell to Damien's side, eyes open but unseeing as the last of the Unnamed's evil fled his soul forever.

Perhaps a few seconds passed after the Hunter's last exhalation of breath, and then a great cacophony began within the Forest. A thunder resounded from within its depths that had no true sound but could be felt for miles around. This was quickly followed by wave after wave of coldfire and dark fae. They pulsed out from the center and traveled as far as a few miles from the Forest borders, leveling towns and anything else in their path. And when the destruction was finished, all that could be seen of the Hunter's once frightful domain was a sea of black glass. And there, just off the center, lay two figures in repose. Damien lay on his back with his eyes closed, blood covered the front of his chest, but no marks could be seen. Beside him lay the Hunter, also showing evidence of bloody trauma, but with no marks whatsoever. Tarrant's arms were splayed out to his sides. And the oh so pale fingers on his right were half covered by a large, tan, and calloused hand.

Thus Karril found them. And he wept. True feelings were an anomaly for Iezu, but he experienced them nonetheless. And they burned him fiercely, relentlessly. And as his tears fell, they took root in the reflective ebony surface of the terrain, sinking into the smooth glass and emerging again as large black and purple crystals. Some as large as a full grown man. They spread out from his position as he wept in true sorrow for the loss of a friend, bearing silent witness to his very real grief. Time passed, though it had lost its meaning to him, and he was eventually able to witness what his tears had wrought within the transformed earth. And when Karril beheld the beautiful crystals, he understood why they had grown and what he would do as a last farewell to these two brave souls who had given all they had, and had faced everything together, but yet could not bring themselves to accept the truths about each other. It took him the better part of a day and night to accomplish, and his Iezu brethren stood in mute awe as they witnessed the very first Iezu on Erna to ever truly wield the fae with something more than illusion. Love conquers all they say, even one's prior limitations.

There is a monument, it is rumored. If you travel lightly outside of certain towns, you can reach it in mere hours by horseback. You will know you approach it when the ground turns to a slick black glass for miles around. Travelling towards the center, you will eventually see something rising up from the vast flatland, and as you draw near, your breath will be stolen by the beauty of this creation that honors two of the most courageous and brave individuals of history. Strangely, you will not read about them in the Church missives or records, though they completed that entity's bidding even with their last acts. And stories penned of them mysteriously fade away shortly after being printed. No, you will learn of them through word of mouth. And unbelievingly, you will travel to this destination seeking to disprove these claims. But upon reaching the Black Crystal Garden, you will cease disbelief and open your mind to the truth.

The Black Crystal Garden stands in the center of the glass plain. Once, a proud and horrible nightmare forest stood there. Now, the collection of crystals stands in testimony to the power of true love and sacrifice. The center of the garden is reputed to be the resting place of two mortal men who were the saviors of mankind. And upon one particularly large purple crystal, their story is narrated in a poetic hand. To each side of this large crystal are other slightly smaller ones, and more extend back behind these, forming an above ground tomb of crystalline magnificence for those encapsulated within. On a clear day, with the sun at just the precise angle, one can barely discern the shadowy forms of two figures within the pristine structure. On either side you can read the two names listed on the sparkling natural headstones, along with their many titles, ranks, and offices held in bygone days. Gerald Tarrant and Damien Vryce. Our Saviors of Erna. And below all of the descriptors and names and dates, you will find a small quote. The quote was extracted from an ancient and partially destroyed text whose meaning was lost with the First Sacrifice. One of the entombed was said to be an avid scholar, and so the creator of the Black Crystal Garden found it had an appropriate application to the forces of good and evil they found arrayed against them. But, whosoever reads the lines out loud will be overcome with the newborn emotions of an Iezu demon. And only upon leaving will the reader regain his emotional stability, for grief and love intertwined create a cocktail that is exquisite in its torture of the eternal spirit.

_Two households, both alike in dignity,  
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,  
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,  
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.  
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes  
A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life;  
Whose misadventur'd piteous overthrows  
Doth with their death bury their parents' strife._

E/N: So that was another one of my endings in which they discover themselves in a final confrontation. This is one I consider more likely, however, just given how more likely I believe Tarrant to react with denial and violence. I don't personally like writing about them not ending up together and all happy and whatnot, but I needed a break and something a bit darker. I know I know…the quote at the end is totally stolen from Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet prologue. But I felt it had real application if the reader understands that Good & Evil are the two households mentioned, and that Good would be in reference to Damien's parent as Evil would be to Tarrant's. Anyway, I felt it had some merit. But I'm tired, so maybe not…


End file.
